The Angel of Thursday
by PwnedByPineapple
Summary: Hell was said to be a fiery place, but its flames burned cold. An AU to Castiel's introduction.


**Title:** The Angel of Thursday  
**Summary:** Hell was said to be a fiery place, but its flames burned cold. An AU to Castiel's introduction.  
**Notes:** Contest fic – the challenge was to write a different introduction for Cas. Written pre-s7, so the Leviathan introduced in this fic differs greatly from the Leviathan of the series.

* * *

Hell was said to be a fiery place.

The souls of the damned burned there for eternity in punishment for wicked crimes committed against their fellow men. The flames of Hell were said to consume them to the point of no longer being human, twisting them beyond the shreds of humanity into something fiendish and demonic. That was the power of Hell's fire, it was whispered. That was what the dark inferno could do.

But the flames of Hell were cold.

It was a cold that sank beyond physical level, a cold that devoured virtue and hope. It was infinitely more terrible than any heat, for it chilled the very soul and stole the promise of warmth. It was a cold that couldn't be escaped, that froze all the pain and suffering into place and let none break away from its claws.

Hell burned like ice, and the sweat of the damned came not from flame, but from feverish chill.

Even a creature such as an angel could feel this cold, and the legion preparing to invade Hell did not relish the prospect of entering that freezing, horrific atmosphere. But they had their orders. A precious human soul was ensnared in Hell's chains, and they were charged with releasing him before the unspeakable happened. It was an order than had never been given before, that had never even been entertained in the entire history of Creation.

Then again, neither had the possibility of the Apocalypse - until now.

The angels looked to their leader, the one who had been given the order directly from God. Castiel, the angel of Thursday, was silent and unmoving. His legion waited respectfully, until at last Castiel drew one of his blades, spinning it around to hold it poised point down. Muttering a forbidden incantation in Enochian, he plunged the blade into the surface of Heaven and ripped through the very fabric of that place, tearing into Hell. A powerful blast erupted from the opening, carrying with it screams and misery. The angels steeled themselves against it and entered, a few remaining behind to guard the breach.

They were light and warmth amid darkness and cold, and their presence did not go unnoticed. At once, a hundred lesser demons threw themselves at the intruders, shrieking their fury. The angels flanked their leader, carving through the demonic hordes with ease. These were not their real enemies. These were merely the front to the greater demons, the most malevolent beings that would rise from the depths of Hell to challenge their oldest foes.

Castiel was at the center of his brothers and sisters, the only angel not engaged in battle. This was because his entire being was focused on finding one human soul amidst the innumerable amount in Hell – a task that at which even an angel would hesitate. However, the power of God's command was behind Castiel. It _had_ to be obeyed.

_Save him._

After what may have seemed an infinite time, Castiel drew his second blade.

The human had been located.

The angels in front of Castiel broke rank, allowing a small opening through which Castiel surged. His legion fell smoothly into place behind him, creating an arrowhead formation. Castiel was at the forefront, a luminous figure amidst the darkness of Hell. He practically burned with his mission, scorching demons with the heavenly fire that sprang from his swords. The pulse of a single soul guided him; he was entirely focused upon it, not allowing anything to stand in his way.

His determination could not erase their enemies, however. Each of the angels felt something evil stirring, something that made the many hundreds of demons surrounding them seem pitiable in comparison. One of Hell's greatest was rising to meet them, a foe that could easily match the angels in strength.

The sight of it was so startling that the angels halted. A great slithering beast more terrible than any sea serpent or snake was approaching, so massive that it dwarfed even Castiel. Its mouth was open in an enraged snarl, baring teeth like swords; its dark, scaled body was made up of many legs and claws, and its horrible eyes glared at them in pure malice.

Leviathan, the veritable Hellmouth, had risen to challenge them.

"We cannot defeat that," Castiel's second-in-command, Machidiel, whispered. "That is a prince of Hell."

Castiel knew this. He stood for a moment in rapid thought before looking to Machidiel and exchanging swift words with him and the rest of the garrison. The switch was quick. Machidiel took Castiel's place at the head of the garrison, and Castiel blended himself with his fellow angels. He waited, motionless, as Leviathan charged ever closer, trampling even fellow demons in its rage.

"Now," said Castiel.

They moved as one, clashing with Leviathan in a terrible crescendo. Castiel gave silent thanks to his brothers and sisters as he moved past them with great speed, weaving between Leviathan's thrashing limbs while the great demon was distracted by the multitude of angels that attacked it. They would only need to fight it long enough for Castiel to reach his target. After that would be a full-scale retreat, back through the breach in order to close it.

Once clear of Leviathan, Castiel could feel a multitude of souls in agony. Their pain pressed down on him, threatening to throw him off course. He cleared his mind of the anguish that surrounded him, instead making for the soul that was growing ever brighter in his senses…

… and stopped dead.

Dean Winchester was no longer on his torturer's rack. He was free, and the gruesome instruments in his hands destroyed any hope of stopping the Apocalypse before it had begun.

The angel could hear the battle behind him, and he knew it would be a small matter of time before Leviathan, who was already aware of the angels' deception, would reach him. Castiel was almost numb from his failure, but he roused his senses and reevaluated his plan. The order remained the same, regardless of whether the first seal was broken or not. God had commanded that Dean Winchester was to be saved, and Castiel would carry out that wish.

The man had been watching the battle, and when he saw Castiel, the torture instruments dropped from nerveless fingers. He fell to his knees; Castiel had no idea what ideas of judgment or salvation were running through the human's mind at the sight of the angel, but there was no time to explain. Castiel strode forward, gripped Dean Winchester's shoulder with one hand, and used the other to slice through the air with a blade, speaking a reverse of the previous incantation he'd used.

And when a breach opened between Hell and Earth, Castiel pulled Dean through.

* * *

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe, and he was going to die if he didn't get air _this very goddamn second._ There was dirt in his eyes and in his mouth and everywhere, and he couldn't see, but he knew he was clawing up because there was no way he could be going _down_.

And then there was a hand gripping his, pulling him up the last few inches to the surface with _beautiful, sweet air_, and he was gasping and coughing and spitting out dirt. And when at last he was able to stop, Dean looked up into an intense pair of blue eyes. He could swear that, for an instant, he saw the shadow of magnificent, sweeping wings... and he didn't think it was from lack of oxygen.

"Who-?" was all he was able to gasp.

"I am Castiel, an angel of the Lord," said his savior. "I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."


End file.
